When you think of Hollywood epics of the 50's and 60's, films such as *Ben-Hur*, *Spartacus*, *Cleopatra* spring to mind. Largely forgotten is *Quo Vadis*, the 1951 film which blazed the trail for later big-budget recreations of the Roman Empire, usually with a Christian angle. In fact our hindsight perspective of a film like *Quo Vadis* is awfully hard on it, since we take for granted many qualities of this type of film which were actually introduced in 1951.

Take the portrayal of a psychotic Roman emperor. This is one of the high points of *Quo Vadis*; a young Peter Ustinov is absolutely splendid as the languidly evil Nero - a much more nuanced performance than that of, say, Jay Robinson as the lunatic Caligula in 1953's *The Robe*, or even Joaquin Phoenix as Commodus in *Gladiator*. The monumental set design, booming musical score, and the handling of thousands of extras in these "sword and sandal" epics were likewise established by *Quo Vadis* - and not coincidentally, the big scenes were shot at the Cinecitta film complex outside Rome, just as they were in *Ben-Hur* and many later flicks. Then why isn't *Quo Vadis* remembered in the same breath with those other blockbusters?

First of all, the film WAS a blockbuster at its release; it was a box office smash, though critical reaction was tepid and has remained so. The lavish Technicolor production, the romance, the smug assurance of the triumph of Christian values in the aftermath of WWII all reflected public taste more than they do now. In this regard, this whole genre of film has dated badly, of course. Still, as a film, *Quo Vadis* has its problems. It was based on an 1896 historical novel by Henryk Sienkiewicz which, even by 1950's standards, is pretty corny (I've actually read it; its most useful function is to explain the title, which is Latin for "Where are you going?" - the words spoken in Christian tradition by Christ to St. Peter on the road as he fled the persecution of the Christians in Rome, and which shamed Peter into turning back to face martyrdom).

The most glaring weaknesses are the lead actors. Robert Taylor, perhaps Hollywood's most forgettable leading man, is never more faceless or less emotionally involving than he was in the role of the Roman general Marcus Vinicius. His love interest, Lygia (Deborah Kerr), is given absolutely nothing to work with by the wooden script and fares little better. Once you get past those two, however, the performance level picks up considerably. I've already mentioned Peter Ustinov as Nero; his fellow Brit, Leo Genn, plays the courtier Petronius, and their exchanges sparkle with wit - and barely-concealed menace. Deborah Kerr's bodyguard, the muscleman Ursus, is played by Buddy Baer - yes, the uncle of *The Beverly Hillbillies*' Max Baer (and did you know that "Ursus" is Latin for "bear"? I wonder if anyone picked up the pun at the time). Although the role is mute, Baer appears in two of the film's memorable moments: Ursus' grapple with the professional wrestler Croton (Arthur Walge), and the spectacular scene at the end in the arena, when he must face a bull to whose horns Lygia has been tied (yes, friends, it is in the book, though Deb Kerr doesn't appear naked, as Sienkiewicz described it).

The plot - no great shakes to start with - is really just a flimsy link between the set-piece spectacle scenes, which are impressive. In 64 A.D., the general Vinicius has just returned to Rome after a 4-year stint bashing British barbarians. Though awarded a triumphal parade by Nero (lavishly recreated with nice historical details, like the slave standing behind Vinicius repeating "glory is fleeting"), Vinicius is put off by the decadence of Nero and his court, though his friend Petronius instructs him in the arts of courtly dissimulation before Vinicius' bluntness can alienate the emperor. In any case, Vinicius is soon distracted by the beauteous Lygia, a red-headed barbarian princess now adopted into a noble Roman family. When his honorable advances are rebuffed, he arranges with Petronius' help to kidnap her. His ambush goes awry; Lygia's bodyguard Ursus kills Croton, Vinicius' hired thug, and Vinicius himself gets bopped on the head. When he wakes up, in the care of Lygia and her Christian friends, he learns that it is his paganism which is the main obstacle to Lygia's love. After the usual religious propaganda scenes, when he meets St. Peter and other Christian figures, Vinicius seeks Petronius' advice; but they and everyone else in Rome are caught up in the great fire, during which, supposedly, "Nero fiddled while Rome burned". Nice bit for Ustinov here, even though his cold-blooded plan to deliberately burn down Rome so as to reduce the unemployment rolls and make space for his splendid new palace is almost certainly unhistorical (even the ancient Roman historian Tacitus, who hated Nero and is our main source for the fire, gives Nero the benefit of a doubt). The scenes showing the fire and the panic in the crowded streets are very effective. Everyone blames Nero, who conceives the idea of blaming the fire on the Christians, thereby launching the first persecution of Christianity. Now Vinicius is seriously conflicted, especially when Petronius becomes the victim of a court intrigue and is forced to commit suicide by Nero (surprisingly touching scenes here, when, at the end of his life, Petronius is revealed to have been a kind master to his household, whatever his cynical pose in Nero's court). The climax is the scene in the arena with Lygia, Ursus and bull already mentioned, with a helpless Vinicius looking on as spectator; but almost as good is the aftermath, showing Nero's overthrow (the weak, helpless Nero sitting in an empty palace, abandoned by all but his faithful mistress urging him to commit an honorable suicide before his enemies arrive).

Look hard and you might spot both Sophia Loren and Elizabeth Taylor as extras.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS
Video Occasion: Better than Watching TV
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 9 - 12